“Oh, she's not so sick as you thought she was, not near.”
The mother looked relieved. “She had an awful bad spell last night. Do you think she won't have any more?”
“No, she won't have any more.” The look on the patient's face said plainly, “We'll see about that.” It did not escape the doctor.
“But in case you should see any signs of a spell coming on, and if she gets so she can't speak again, then you must—but come into the next room,” he said in a low voice.
They went into an adjoining room, the doctor taking care to leave the door ajar. Then in a voice ostensibly low enough that the patient might not hear and yet so distinct that she could hear every word, he delivered his instructions: “Now, if she has any more spells she must be blistered all the way from her neck down to the end of her spine.” The mother looked terrified. “And if she gets so she can't speak again, it will be necessary to put a seton through the back of her neck.”
“What is a seton?” faltered the woman.
“Oh, it's nothing but a big needle six or eight inches long, threaded with coarse cord. It must be drawn through the flesh and left there for a while.” Then in a tone so low that only the mother could hear, he said, “Don't pay much attention to her. She'll never have those spells unless there is somebody around to see her.”
He walked into the other room and took up his hat and case.
“I left some powders on the table,” he said to the mother. “You may give her one just before dinner and another tonight.”
“Will it make any difference if she doesn't take it till tonight?”